


A Discussion Of Sorts

by Vrunka



Series: Version 2.0 [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Prostate Massage, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: RK900 talks about what happened. Gavin is not very good at listening.





	A Discussion Of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> You don’t have to read part 1, but some context may help.

To call the bar seedy would be nicer than it deserves. Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose, elbows knocking against the wood of the table they’re seated at. The lurid pink and blue lighting here reminds him too much of the Eden Club, gives him an instant headache.

He hates places like this.

But it’s one of the few establishments that still allows androids in after the failed revolution.

And Gavin is most certainly in the company of an android. Which is fucking weird, even to him. Especially to him. He hates these things almost as much as he hates tacky establishments like this. But that doesn’t change the fact that he agreed to meet up with this...this thing after work.

So he’s here.

So he’s fucking here.

“So...” he starts to say. Fingers tapping against the table, a staccato rhythm to help keep him grounded. “The fuck did you wanna talk about?”

RK900 meets his gaze. Those steady, unblinking eyes.

“Your hostility is noted,” RK900 says. “But you did not have to join me, Detective Reed. I simply thought here would be a better place to discuss your sexual attraction to—“

Gavin has a hand across the android’s dumb mouth before another damning word can leave its lips. He very frankly does NOT notice how soft the thing’s skin is, supple and giving beneath his palm.

Fuck.

Shit, shit.

“Keep you voice down,” Gavin says. “Christ you want people to hear you.”

The light on it’s temple is yellow. When it’s hands remove his from it’s mouth, they are maybe rougher than strictly necessary. Gavin’s bones ache in the grip. His throat, still sore and singing from those scant few hours ago squished under RK900’s dress shoes, echoes the hurt.

Gavin swallows.

“—your sexual attraction to my predecessor,” it finishes, like Gavin had never interrupted at all. It’s fingers squeeze Gavin’s wrist, before flicking him away with a split second shudder of-of something, some emotion beyond that ever-present frown. So quick Gavin almost misses it. “You do not get to touch me, Reed, I am worth more than several of your paychecks combined.”

“Fuck you.”

“You want to. Or you wanted to fuck the 800 prototype. I am simply trying to ascertain whether it is me or my predecessor that is driving you to lash out the way you have. Though it has gotten you nowhere.”

Nowhere but under his shoe. Pinned like a cockroach with his cock out. Gavin covers his burning face with his hands.

“You keep saying things are simple. Simply, simply. Clearly it’s not all that simple. Why do you care what the fuck I do?”

RK900’s brows flex. Processing. Small little ticks Gavin sort of recognizes from watching Connor all those months ago. Connor’s eyebrows flexing, holding out the cup of coffee Gavin had demanded. Eerie little echoes of the bot that RK900 certainly is not.

“I was sent here to hunt any lingering deviant strains. To foster good relations with my partner is the simplest means to achieving that end. 313248317-53 had a similar idea, but it lost control of the thread when a deviant android pulled its pump regulator out and left it to shut down in Lieutenant Anderson’s arms. I don’t intend to allow that to happen to me.”

“So you’re saying...”

“I am saying,” each word enunciated, prickly, “that it’s in both of our interests for us to get along.”

“I didn’t wanna fuck Connor and I don’t wanna be your friend, asshole.”

“You must have misheard me. I’m not asking. You will stop throwing your little tantrums at work, I will stop needing to put you in line.”

“You can’t just—“

“The compromise is that I will give you what you want. Off the clock. Do we have a deal?”

Gavin tries to trace the meaning of that sentence. The intent behind it.

What he wants.

What he wants?

“And what the hell is it that I want? According to you,” Gavin asks. The android meets his gaze for a long, long moment. Seconds ticking by with neither of them saying anything.

RK900 stands. “Follow,” it says.

Gavin, damning himself even as he does, follows.

The android makes its way to the men’s restroom. It doesn’t hold the door for Gavin, simply pushes its way through and lets the door almost fall shut in his face. It’s staring intently at the stalls.

“If you had to piss you didn’t have to have me follow you. I’m not interested in holding your dick for you but thanks.”

“Your witticisms are delightful, has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Screw you, plastic prick.” But Gavin’s tone is more sulky than he intends. He didn’t know they had programmed the damn bot with sarcasm on top of all the other shit.

“That stall should do nicely,” it says. Pointing to the one farthest from the door.

“You want me to...?”

“Go in, yes. I refuse to believe this is your first time doing this sort of thing in this sort of establishment, Detective. You playing coy at this stage will get you nothing.”

A roundabout way of calling him a slut, but calling him one regardless. Gavin bites back the first thing that bubbles to the top of his throat, clenches his fist, stalks into the stall. Dark painted wood, graffitied to hell and back with phone numbers and names. Someone has carved a very veiny dick right over the toilet paper dispenser.

RK900 crowds behind him. The lock for the door clicks. Ominous.

“Pants off then. I am willing to pick up where we had left off at the precinct,” it says.

Gavin bites his lips. Unhooks his belt and zipper with a viciousness so keen it’s a wonder the material doesn’t just rip. White-knuckled.

“You should relax,” RK900 says. It’s hand touches his throat, thumb pressing against the bruise. Gavin hisses, flinching, but the bot’s hands don’t falter or stop. Messaging the tender skin, pinching and prodding until Gavin is panting into each firm rub.

The sting of the pain morphing into something more malleable, hotter, shameful. Gavin shoves his jeans down to his knees.

RK900 maneuvers the two of them around, until it is Gavin with his back to the stall door. With one leg entirely free and supported by RK900’s big, strong hand.

A terribly vulnerable position. His balls and half hard cock out in the air for the two of them to see. And RK900 certainly isn’t shy about staring this time. It’s eyes flicker up and down, taking in the sight of it firming up further between them. The tingling, heady rush of blood as his cock fills out.

Gavin swallows. Unsure of where to look. Uncomfortable staring at his own erection or at the top of RK900’s head, still craned downward to watch it bobbing in the air. “So what are we—“

RK900’s fingers slide up the length of his cock once. Inhumanly cold and unnaturally smooth, no callouses from years of handling a gun. No scars. No imperfections. Gavin’s breath catches. His calf tightens under RK900’s other hand. Arching into the touch.

“Shit,” he says, “that’s—god that’s weird.”

“The reactions of your body are contradictory to that statement.”

“Can you not fucking scan me at a time like this, please?”

“If I tell you no, will you ask me to stop touching you?”

Gavin swallows again. Convulsive little twitches of his throat. One hand wrapped around RK900’s shoulder, the other gripping the top of the stall. “...No,” he says.

“Okay then. I am not going to stop scanning you. It is not a function I have the ability to terminate.”

It’s fingers leave Gavin’s cock, traipse up it’s own body to a inner pocket of it’s jacket. Producing a small bottle that Gavin cannot read the print on. Not that it matters. There’s only so many things it could be.

“You don’t have a silicone allergy,” it says, “so this should suffice for our current position but I do recommend that you look into the future purchase of actual sexual lubricant.”

“Please stop talking,” Gavin says.

“Very well, Detective.”

Deft, one-handed, it pops the cap, dexterous, inhuman fingers twisting the bottle to squirt some into the palm of it’s hand. Gavin stares up at the ceiling.

He can’t help the low groan of complaint that rips past his lips when that cold gel rubs over his perineum. Those robotic fingers spreading his ass cheeks. His skin heats up, embarrassment or over-compensation he isn’t sure which.

With precise, mechanical motions one of those fingers presses inside, working gently at the resistance of Gavin’s body until with a shudder he melts into the touch. Forces himself to relax.

Again, RK900 does not praise him, but this time it’s eyebrows raise, it’s pupils expand, eating away at the cold blue of it’s irises. The second finger works in easier than the first.

Gavin whines, undignified, as they split, coaxing him open. Stretching him out. He can feel the calculations in every thrust of the mechanical joints. RK900 making a science of fingering him.

“What will CyberLife have to say about this,” Gavin asks. Sneer falling away as RK900 pushes hi-it’s third finger in.

“CyberLife’s directive is that I complete my missions as thoroughly as possible. What I do to meet that end is not really any of their concern.” His—it’s fucking it, a machine not a person—finger’s curl. “Why? Are you worried that I’m recording this? Sending back to CyberLife what a mess I’ve turned you into?”

Gavin bites his lip, unable to deny the twitch his cock gives at the words. Drop of precome gathering at the head. RK900 sets a pace, fucking it’s fingers roughly into Gavin’s willing body.

“God...damn it,” Gavin groans. Hips pulsing in a counter rhythm. Driving RK900 deeper with every shove of it’s wrist.

“Do you like this? Do you want more? Saying so is easy, Detective.” The android’s lips hover over Gavin’s own, almost kissing distance.

A horrible thought.

Gavin wills it away with a flinch. He flexes his knee, squeezing RK900’s hip.

“I’m not gonna ask to touch your dick,” Gavin bites. “Fuck yourself.”

The words are mostly to bait a rise out of the stoic asshole. Seeking desperately for some foothold of emotion. To even the ground. Put them both in an uncomfortable situation.

The fingers inside of him stretch. Spreading. Gavin hisses and shudders and twists on the point of them. Absolutely powerless, worked into a wreck by some fingers in his ass. Pathetic.

“I don’t have a dick, Detective Reed. CyberLife didn’t send me here with the—“

“Shut up, shut up,” Gavin says. “God fuckin’—“

But then it’s Gavin shutting up, suddenly speechless as those fingers in him rub against his prostate. Firm purposeful touch. Dragging over that bundle of nerves harshly. Mechanical efficiency.

Oh Christ.

His breathing catches, stuttering out of his throat over a low, animal noise. The foot not being held up by RK900’s arm, kicks against the toilet. The door supporting his weight rattles in its frame. Testing the lock.

“I’m sorry,” RK900 says, “were you saying something? I couldn’t hear you over all the moaning, Detective Reed.”

And really it needs to stop using Gavin’s name and title. So far they’ve been lucky in that no one has entered the bathroom and heard them going at it in the stall. But luck really only extends so far and Gavin isn’t looking to have to fill out his own paperwork over a public indecency fine.

But the only way he knows how to get someone to shut up in this sort of a scenario is...

Is.

Before he can think about it, analyze it too deeply or too far, he shifts the hand on RK900’s shoulder to the back of its neck. Fingers arching, digging his nails in for purchase, for anchorage. He drags RK900’s face into his, their lips catch in more like a bite than any sort of proper kiss.

For a moment, RK900 is unresponsive, Gavin can just see its light, pulsing slow yellow as it processes the sudden shift. Gavin squeezes his eyes shut.

Slowly, RK900’s mouth opens to his own. Clumsy almost. The first hitch in the programming. Gavin thrills at the victory.

His elation lasts about a second.

RK900’s fingers thrust against his prostate and freeze. And then start to vibrate. The ensuing sound, another horribly visceral noise torn straight from his gut, is swallowed by RK900’s lips. Gavin’s knees go jelly, liquid, but RK900 holds him through the collapse.

The spasms in his limbs as orgasm crashes over him a second time in one day. Leaving only boneless weakness in him; the tense bolt of desire burns from below his stomach and out out out.

A sticky mess of come between the two of them. Drenching Gavin’s shirt, RK900’s button down. He comes harder than he had with just RK900’s foot on his throat. Hard enough that world goes silent and white for a few extended seconds.

He only comes to because RK900’s fingers are still stuffed in his ass, still vibrating against his abused prostate and it’s beginning to become uncomfortable. His over-worked nerves firing conflicting signals through his synapses. Too much pleasure, burned out on it.

“Stop,” he says. Shoving weakly at the android’s neck. “It’s too much. Too much, I’m—“

The android’s eyes narrow. The vibration stops. “Satisfied,” it offers.

Gavin’s chest heaves. His hands are shaking where they are clutching at RK900’s jacket. He loosens his grip. “You don’t have to be so smug, you know.”

“My inquiry was a genuine one. I am able to continue if you would like to come again. Your bio-readouts indicate that your refractory period can be halved should I continue to do—“

“Don’t! Let’s just—“ Gavin scrambles for something to say. His leg pulls away from RK900’s grip. “This was...was something that happened right. So. So so so it’s done. We did it. Right? Blew off steam. Or-or you know. Whatever. Hand me some tissues would you?”

RK900 stands up straighter. Turns just slightly to pull some toilet paper from the dispenser. Pressing them into Gavin’s palm.

“Is that what you really want, Detective?”

“To pretend this never happened? Absolutely.”

The robot’s head tilts. His LED blinks, slow and measured with his thinking.

“Very well,” he says—it says. Gavin forces the thought away. “If you would move, I will leave you to it, then. See you at work tomorrow, Detective Reed.”

“Right, right,” Gavin says. Stepping out of the way. RK900 unlocks the door without a second glance, exits the bathroom without another word.

Tomorrow at work.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 is incoming.
> 
> EDIT: link to that tasty tasty twitter art by Boma. Whew boy did she overdeliver this time :3
> 
> https://mobile.twitter.com/connorsdlcdick/status/1013157633174441984


End file.
